I’m pleased to say that, at long last, I feel as though I’ve turned a corner with the housework. It’s not perfect yet but it’s getting there, and what’s more is that after my silly little episode of greed last week then I’m pleased to say that my blog hasn’t suffered that much and views are more or less back to the way they were. It has suffered in the way that I have a lot of posts to put back into the right category and a few bits and pieces with plug-ins to sort out, but for the most part I’m back to where I was. It could be better, but it could also be much, much worse.
On Thursday I took delivery of some new cosmetic tweezers. I get one rogue dark hair show up on my chin from time to time, so I periodically tweeze the fucker before it gets to make a notable appearance. Unfortunately, as I tried to tweeze on Wednesday then I noticed the illuminating light on my tweezers begin to flicker. New tweezers were required, it seemed.
I unpack the new pairs of tweezers and set them aside, ready to make their way into my make-up box in due course. Unbeknown to me, Matt had picked a pair up and was now clicking them by my ear.
“Stop…” I whisper, there’s no way I’m letting him set off my ASMR like this. He’s not to know. He can’t know! He doesn’t know. He knows my ears are crazy sensitive and that’s already more than enough, he can’t have everything!
“Why?” he asks.
“Because I’ve asked you to?” I try, I’m aware that my vision has already glazed over into its submissive, hypersensitive state and it takes what fight I have left in me to resist him. I’m ‘gone’ already, but I don’t need to ‘go’ completely. I can resist ASMR – I’ve seen those videos, I’ve trained myself at this!
Ha! One up to The Resistance!
I think.
“Hmm, let’s turn the light on for a better look” he says, I whip my head away from him as I feel my cheeks and neck flush.
No!
I’m aware of my vulnerabilities with ASMR and my medical fetish, I’m aware of how often they cross over, of how ‘weird’ it is for some people and that otoscopes and the like exist on retail platforms like Amazon and Ebay, and for as much as I am aware then I prefer to deny all knowledge, if only for that tiny iota of control that I still have. Wilful ignorance I think they call it? Well, if it works.
Everything you’ve ever wanted is on the other side of fear. I know this, I know this.
And yet…
At long last yesterday, playtime did finally happen. Maybe it came from me drafting my post throughout the week, but by by 6PM Friday I was ready to play and, perhaps moreso, I was looking forward to it too. No stress trying to get things done, finally, finally it was here.
Things about us changed, we teased, we flirted, we joked.
“What do you want for dinner?” Matt asks.
“That depends,” I whisper as I trace kisses slowly down his stomach, “what do you want to eat?”
“Fuck! We’ve got no bloody chopped tomatoes” comes the cry from the kitchen, “I guess I’ll need to go back out.”
“Oh, well that’s a shame” I say, I tilt my head slightly and give him my most coquettish look.
“Mrs S, what are you implying?” he asks.
“Hmm? Oh nothing, nothing” I say. “Now, off you go. Quick or the shops will close.”
“Tell me.”
“Well I was thinking…” I begin, “since we’re already being bad tonight…”
“Fine” he agrees, “but we do need to get some more tomatoes!”
I quite agree, but that’s a ‘Monday’ problem.
Curry is a simple chicken tikka massala, though we ditched the usual accompanying naan for some boiled rice instead to make for a lighter meal. Matt potters around while we wait for food to arrive, and I take the time to prepare the bedroom.
I’m not quite sure why, but the music that rang out over our Google “surround sound” speaker set-up was not our normal selection.
“I’m going to wake up, yes and no”, sings Madonna.
“Umm, Kitten. What’s this?” Matt laughs. It’s not our normal playtime Tudor choral music, that’s for sure. I try and work it out, but nothing seems to add up. In the end, the only fix is to broadcast the playlist directly from my phone. Damn technology.
The bedroom is bathed in a familiar red light and I light the tea lights, flick on the aromatherapy diffuser (at least for the flame effect) and light some incense. It’s us, it’s ours. It’s our playspace.
And it’s great to be back.
Pretty soon, Matt joins me in the bedroom.
“These are going to have to go” he says, pawing at my pyjamas. Unfair – I’ve not long put them on.
He makes deft work of my pyjamas until I’m left naked on the bed.
“Your turn” I insist, he smiles. He discards his t-shirt on the floor and flexes slightly.
“The show’s over” he growls, and blindfolds me.
I listen to the music as Daddy makes work of attaching me to the bed. I make a note to myself that Kehlani’s Gangsta needs to go, it was about one thing for me, but then it wasn’t. It more or less sings about being okay with being abused in the name of love, and well, I’m not.
Not non-consensually, anyway.
“Hurt me, do what you want I’m thirsty” Raphael Lake sings, I smile.
How apt?
I love “Prisoner“, and it is one of my “sub songs”, probably one of the only best bits from 365 Dni. For me it relates to a mental state, a state of surrender and submission to my Dominant that I go into in times of stress.
Losing grip on reality
I’m over the edge
I yell and I scream
I’m a prisoner here
Come get me, set me free.
Hmm, yep.
First out last night are the butterfly nipple clamps, a delightful little pinch that sets the rest of me on fire. I’m not quite sure what possesses me, but I swivel my shoulders slightly and giggle as the butterflies swing.
“Daddy, look! I got baubles on my baubles” I giggle. Matt laughs.
“You bloody idiot” he says.
I’m pretty sure every pinwheel and scratchy thing has an outing and a chance to course it’s way over my body. Some I react quite favourably to, some get a squeal or a small yelp, others I can’t stand. I think I know which one’s which.
“Daddy, I feel like a block of rough puff pastry” I protest, “you’ve prickled me so much”.
“Hmm, all ready for roasting” he says without missing a beat. I gasp and I hear him smile.
“Rude” I chide.
“Yep” he says unapologetically.
I hear the wardrobe door open and I know that he’s gone for the big guns. No more pinwheels for me, now it’s all crops, canes and floggers.
“Let’s see what we have here…” he says, I want to argue that ‘seeing’ is a bit of a challenge for me in my current predicament, though I decide against it.
“Some of these might be a bit noisy. This one, though…”. Err, what one?
I feel the leather bulb of the crop land against my inner thigh and I gasp again softly, my body rises up to meet him in a new sensual dance of lovers. I feel him trace the bulb along my thighs and stomach, down to my buttocks and back up onto my breasts. Again my body moves with him, spellbound by the promises that he makes.
It’s the light flick on my shaven pussy though that catches me. It feels… unique. I bite my lip.
Drag…flick.
I gasp.
He applies the bulb of the crop in quick flicks up and down my lips and I squirm in delight. It’s new fo me, but oh it’s heavenly – like oral from the devil’s tongue.
I cry out in a groan that even Redtube would be proud to possess. It doesn’t quite take me over the edge of orgasm but it’s certainly close and I had no idea that it was even possible. It was an “off” for me once, but I’m already very negotiable.
Suddenly I am very, very thirsty.
We somehow sleep for a while, only to wake at 4AM to finish what we started.
“Ahh well, you wouldn’t be interested in breeding me then, sweet dreams” I tease as I pretend to settle back down, I place my leg across his but act otherwise completely disinterested. Of course, I know what I’m doing.
“That depends, do you want to be bred?” he asks, rolling and pinning me. I giggle in response and he’s less than gentle with my half-awake body, still basked in the red light of what once was. We both spent much of today in a state of fatigue, but with absolutely no regrets.
I’ve since been shopping for a little something to add to our bedroom repertoire. It’s not an otoscope for sure, but it’s certainly not a new duvet set, either.
